Victorious
by Lulu V
Summary: Emerald eyes breathed for the first time in the past of 1927. Harry Potter may have lost the battle but he will win the war. Voldemort had decades to plan his victory but how will a young Tom Riddle fare with a determined opponent that will challenge him. Eventual HP/TR.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does._

_Chapter 1_

* * *

A sharp cry pierced the air as the fading sun sunk into the horizon of southern France. The warm August wind rattled the trees surrounding the villa, birds twirled through the orange sky when a sharp crack shattered through the air. Black Italian shoes crunched on the yellowing grass and ran swiftly through the deep brown pathway.

A woman limply lied on the ornate bed, her lustrous black hair moist with sweat, her tanned round cheeks swollen and marked by tears and her eyes closed in exhaustion. The mediwitch cradled the frail newborn on her bosom and checked rapidly for any signs of life.

The bedroom door slammed open, leaving a deep dent on the rich wine wallpapers that surrounded the master bedroom of the villa, as Marcel Veamount, blond hair in disarray, entered and knelt to his woman's bedside. Mossy green eyes reveled as he heard his wife's strong heartbeat, ear pressed to her chest, and Marcel praised the Light that his wife still breathed. She weakly stirred, her chest rising up, and Marcel moved his head from her damp white nightgown to look up to her face.

Violet eyes opened and stared at her husband's face. Slowly, tears started a steady trail down her cheeks and Marcel cupped his wife's cheek and gently held her hand. He did not need to say it, the utter stillness of the room said it all. There was no newborn crying its noisy arrival to the world. Another still born, after so many tries, and Marcel wondered if his wife would finally relinquish her fierce desire to be a mother. Staring at her empty gaze he hoped, desperately afraid, that he wouldn't lose her because he tried so hard to- a low cry echoed through the room.

Marcel dazedly turned and saw the mediwitch waving her wand rapidly over a pale pink baby that was still and quiet but blessedly _alive_. A thump next to him broke him from his shock. He turned and grabbed his wife who was crawling on the cream Persian carpet and placed her on the soft bed. She slapped and hit him with a sudden fierceness that startled him -because tragedies had scarred and changed that strong fearless girl he courted into a weak quiet creature. Marcel reflexively said without thinking because it was so _natural_-

"Melissa." He snapped and then ranted in angry French. _"Stop acting like a low born Mudblood and remember your pureblood heritage."_ Marcel's mouth snapped shut because his wife was different now and fragile and he opened his mouth to apologize.

Melissa sneered and said with a thick British accent, _"Such a great insult, truly. I am impressed that your snobbish arse had the necessary intelligence to-" _Marcel listened to her butcher the French language with disbelieving awe because it has been so long since she-

She was interrupted when frantic lips assaulted her mouth. He kissed her with wonder and awakened passion because that girl, that silly crazy girl that so utterly captivated him years ago was back with him again, and then she slapped him. She lunged for the baby but he caught her easily maybe if she wasn't so weak from childbirth those formidable dueling reflexes that splayed him across the dueling platform in the International Dueling Championship in 1917 would have given her the victory. Melissa gazed obsessively at their child and started to struggle. He reveled on her new found fierceness as he held her, crushed to his chest, and then snapped to the healer.

"Bring the child, Matilda," he said dangerously as pale blue eyes widened, "Now, you foolish idiot!" Marcel never wanted a child because he wasn't the heir to the Veamount line and as such it wasn't necessary. He was pleased in aiding his brother and father expand the family legacy. He only selfishly wanted her by his side despite the other politically pleasing marriage unions he had at his disposal once upon a time. He catered to her wish of a family and that decision nearly destroyed them both.

The healer rushed to the bed and handed the child, bundled in gold with the embroided family crest, to the mother, she opened her mouth to instruct her but the woman easily and preciously cradled their son to her chest. A wide smile dominated her face as she gazed at the healthy child's enchanting green eyes.

The child was nearly two months early but despite the struggle to finally get to this point, Marcel loved the child only for erasing the dark shadows from her violet eyes.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ The length of the chapters will probably range from 1,500 word count to a 3,000 word count. This was a plot bunny that I had in my head for a couple of weeks and I have a real urge to explore and expand. There will be a few time skips until we get to interact with Tom._


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

* * *

The enormous white tent was held by four wooden pillars, the roof arching high as light passed the white material and gave off a muted glow. Tables, buffets, and moving brown sculptures decorated the area. Low chatter rang through the air as the spring party at the _Veamount Maison_ took place. Polite conversation developed under a veneer of cunning took place as highborn pure-bloods, both Light and Dark, twirled their champagne classes and smiled sweetly as they each plotted their own schemes. House Elves dressed simply in a gold garb were overshadowed and unseen by the wide silver trays carrying anything from appetizers to wine.

A few ways from the tent, children gathered around a blonde haired boy with pretty green eyes as he heatedly told a tale about his latest flying expedition. He had an eager smile as he spoke to the group of children. He faltered slightly when he caught sight of his cousin Philippe, blonde and green eyed like him, who was crouching against the trunk of an oak helm tree and obscured by the moss green shrubs, effectively hiding from the other children. Dressed in dark blue robes Philippe was looking at the group uncertainly, eager to join in but crippled by shyness. Adrian narrowed his eyes. The shrubs trembled and Philippe, frightened, squeaked and jumped. Adrian took the opportunity to call out to him. He hesitatingly went to walk over to the group but then tripped and fell to the ground. Blushing and nerve racked he walked over to the group.

Ten year old Antoinne Delacour, red haired and blue eyed, ignored the Veamount heir and leaned forward and asked,"What broom model do you have?" With a smug tone, he continued "I have the Cleansweep Three." Gasps and mutters of appreciation broke out in the group.

Adrian cut in slyly,"You may have the latest model but do have the talent to back it up." He finished with a challenging smirk.

Two red spots decorated Antoinne's cheeks before he boasted, "I am fantastic flier."

"Prove it." A drawl cut into the conversation. Abraxas Malfoy approached the group, trailed by mousy Eva Rosier, and cocking his head to the side,blonde hair glinting in the sun, whispered, "Or are you afraid _Delacour_?"

An uneasy silence enveloped the group. While they had played together when they were younger as they grew up they were more aware of their affiliations. As such a distance had sprung between the Light and Dark children. They still spoke but they generally stuck to their crowds.

"Racing competition," Adrian Veamount, green eyes bright, proposed," There is a spot by the lake that I just know will be perfect." An eager grin broke out in his tanned face.

Andree Mainard warily eyed the scene and kept a sharp eye on her eight year old brother as he leaned forward to volunteer. She interrupted Lucas and said with a hint of resignation, " I'm in." After all, she was good friends with Adrian and she knew there were only four brooms at the manor.

* * *

Guillaume Veamount sat in a beautiful round glass table, with a bright spring flower headpiece, surrounded by his two sons, Stephane and Marcel, and their respective wifes, Claudine and Melissa. Other influential pure-bloods also accompanied them. Close family friends such as Gerard Mainard, Alejandro Gonzalez, and Ana Gatchevska. Business partners such as the Malfoys and Rosiers, both who were accompanied by their lovely wifes.

Brutus Malfoy was making conversation with Gerard Mainard while his wife Charlotte, a light brown haired trophy wife, gossiped with the other woman, who listened attentively with the exception of Melissa, who only pretended to care for courtesies sake, and Ana, who listened with half an ear while her attention was on the conversation between the Veamount brothers, William Rosier and Alejandro Gonzalez.

A tinkling laugh escaped Michelle Rosier, a petite pretty dark haired woman with honey eyes, as Charlotte revealed, veiled mirth in her tone, the awfully close relationship between the British Minister and his secretary.

Guillaume listened absently to the conversations but he payed closer attention when he heard one of his grandsons magical exploits mentioned.

"He vanished the door?" Ana interrupted impressed.

"Yes." Marcel said with a proud grin. "He claimed it was because the house elves would not stop let him sleep." Guillaume shaked his head in fondness for his mischievous grandson.

"I had to go his room, create an opening and wake him up so we could finally make it to the Beauxbatons entrance exam."Melissa said, exasperation in her voice though her eyes were filled with adoration for her son. She added, "We were half an hour late for the test though luckily the order of the names called were in Alphabetical order." Laughs echoed around the table at the story, as everyone listened to the tale.

shaking his head, Alejandro laughed, "That's my _ahijado_."

"I remember Andree's first magical accident." Gerard reminced, gaze sad and sweet. "She was so upset that Amelia wasn't going to be able to read her a bedtime story because we had the Black's wedding to attend, she glued her shoes to the ground." The table became quiet when Mainard's dead wife was mentioned. Gaze, sympathetic and comforting, Ana steered the conversation in another direction by asking Stephanne, who was oddly quiet, about Philippe magical experiences.

Stephane, strangely stiff, responded "He summoned a toy to him a couple of years ago." The firstborn was looking at his father, who was looking faraway beyond the gardens, and was bitter at the little attention he paid his son. Although summoning, a common occurrence between magical children, it paled in comparison to all the exploits Adrian had accomplished.

"He changed the color of his cat from black to yellow."

Stares were directed at the soft spoken voice of Claudine. The normally quiet witch rarely spoke and was rather shy. Stephane cold anger thawed at his wife's statement and he further relaxed into his chair. Brutus Malfoy and William Rosier exchanged a considering glance while Charlotte Malfoy hid her smirk behind her glass of champagne.

Guillaume for the first time spoke as he pointed out, "The children are flying around the lake."

Melissa jumped up immediately, frantic in her worry. "Adrian is supposed to only fly when there is adult supervision."

William Rosier, broad shouldered and plain featured, looked marginally concerned for his frail daughter as his dark brown eyes narrowed unconsciously. Michelle Rosier assured her worried husband with a gentle shake of her head.

* * *

Lucas sulked and pouted as they got ready for the race. He whined to a jittery Philippe about the unfairness of it all.

Andree ajusted her handle on the broom as the others did the same by her side. She looked at the shallow deep blue lake. The terms of the race were to circle it three times. The first over the line won. She watched patiently as Eva started counting down the seconds. _10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2, and 1._

From the corner of her eye, she saw Antoinne tightening his grip on the broom, and Abraxas and Adrian exchanging eager glances. She pushed herself off the ground and flattened herself against the broom handle. She felt the wind in hair, and the cold in her cheeks until she became numbed to it all and was only focused on flying. During the first round, Abraxas was up ahead in the front, with Adrian following a steady trail, and a determined Antoinne as he struggled to keep up with the other two boys. Andree watched the green scenery airily and made a slight effort to keep up with the others, after all as a heiress to her name she couldn't outshine the boys too much. The only reason the other boys, Abraxas and Antoinne, didn't protest to her participation was because Philippe was a disaster in a broom and her brother was a little too annoying for them to really embrace him as competition. During the last lap, Antoinne finally managed to catch up to Adrian but just as they rounded the final turn, Adrian finally made an effort as he executed a wicked turn and pushed his broom to the limit. She watched him as he effortlessly landed in a crouch. He wasn't even winded and he sported a bored look on his aristocratic cheekbones. He shot the fuming pointy features of Abraxas Malfoy a look that was both smug and dismissive.

The enraged cry of his mother froze his expression into pure white terror. "_Adrian._"

* * *

They arrived home where he was giving a private dressing down for his actions today. He suffered his mother's angry hour rant and his father's disappointing looks before he headed of to bed. That night as in numerous other nights, Adrian tossed and turned in his bed with dreams of a bushy haired girl, a grim black dog, red eyes and a future that will never happen plaguing his sleeping mind.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ In my head I already have planned the next couple of chapters. Tom should appear around chapter four. I understand that I was kinda vague on the summary but if you are interested in this story I really want to know, if not I will just think I am wasting my time. As such I would really appreciate reviews, they don't inspire me exactly but they make me think the efforts are worth it and as a result I'll be more inclined to write. Just a simple opinion would be alright. I'll answer if you have any questions but other than that I will not respond to the other reviews. Also I am in need of a beta. Someone that could help in descriptions because I struggle with that._

_Harry will be a Light wizard, a powerful one, but he will not become a Dark wizard. He may dabble in it because I am thinking about making him a bit of a scholar. I am really excited about developing Light Magic because for some reason people always develop Dark Magic and dismiss Light Magic as the weaker branch so I am up for the challenge. Also I think I am pretty awesome right now cause I delivered another chapter so quickly._

_Please tell me any spelling mistakes. So I can change them real quick._

_Also if it isn't obvious Adrian Veamount is Harry Potter_

_Ahijado: Godson_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

* * *

Fourteen-year-old Adrian Veamount crouched on the wooden dueling platform as he faced his mother. Upon his request his mother had started his training in the formal art of dueling. With a fine number of spells under his belt and a future knowledge of dueling he had mistakenly thought he would be able to fare well against his mother. He had foolishly forgotten that she had won the International Dueling Championship. In his first dueling session he had ended up flat on his back nursing a large headache and seeing double. His mother had calmly listed his mistakes.

She started with his dueling form. Melissa showed him the basic dueling form as she placed his left foot in the front and the other one in the back. Moody had a different method. He taught him how to simply _move_. There was no dueling form – just be in constant motion, dodging every spell and being quick and agile on his feet, something that he wasn't used to in this younger body. Adrian was instructed to crouch slightly for him to be able to move a lot quicker. He had his wand in his right hand when she declared she was satisfied. But by her pursed lips he understood that his performance was barely satisfactory. In the future, Harry was a superb dueler but that was mostly due to his quick reflexes, spell-casting and paranoia. He had been trained by Moody and under the ex-aurors training, better known as torture, he had been able to sense spells before they left his opponent's wand and from the color deduce if it was safe to dodge or use a Protego.

His mother then started criticizing his choice of spells. She claimed he was throwing heavy power spells that missed their mark and wasted energy. This was a type of spell-casting that was good for battles because the people there were focused on getting rid of their opponent as quickly as possible to move on to the next one. She claimed finesse, patience and creativity were the requirements for a good dueler, which was why he wasn't as good at it as he thought he was. He couldn't keep up with her. He got tired more easily because his young body wasn't used to the strain of such heavy-hitter spells and lacked the endurance required to keep up with the powerful dueler his mother turned out to be.

She finally stated that he was horribly out of shape and that if he wanted to have a chance against any dueler, he'd better start training his body to be quicker and more enduring. He would have protested against her if his mother hadn't been but a mere blur as she lithely moved against the platform to easily dodge his every spell. His mother was fast.

After their first disastrous dueling session, Melissa had dueled with him the last couple of weeks of the summer before he started his fourth year. She beat him soundly each time and then picked apart his every mistake and success, pointing out to improve upon them. He had learned quickly that if he impressed her, she would reward him by teaching him a nifty spell from her own repertoire. His speed was slowly catching up to his past life's self's and he was learning which spells were more effective on a dueling arena.

Now, Adrian stayed crouched as the bright icy rope sailed harmlessly over his head. His legs were trembling with the strain from his current position, and he luxuriated in his momentary respite before jumping to his feet. He suspiciously eyed his opponent's smirk as she finished the incantation. Through widened green eyes, he observed as snarling wolves, pale silvery animals with an almost translucent appearance, opened their mouths and started shooting out harsh fire through them. Adrian cast a spell to form a yellow shield that absorbed the wolves' flames easily and used them to power the elemental shield. He tapped the floor and, with satisfaction, watched as thick wooden ropes exploded from the ground and chained the beasts to the floor. He stepped forward when he was sure that the snouts were firmly surrounded by the ropes, and let the fire shield dissipate harmlessly.

"Enough," his mother said firmly as the wolves faded into nothingness, her gaze wandering to the wide open windows as first sunrays lightened the room. He frowned, because although he did know he wasn't going to win, Adrian still wanted to keep practicing. He was about to protest when his mother suggested slyly, "I was thinking you might be ready for _Averto_." Melissa's lips quirked up as she saw his mouth snap closed and an eager glint enter his moss-green eyes.

_Averto_ was a dueling spell his mother had invented. It was tricky in its execution but it was a very flexible spell. It allowed the user to catch the spell with the tip of the wand. From there, the user could deflect it, dissipate it, or even use the magic of the spell to modify it into a different one. It was a great spell for conserving your magical energy while an enraged opponent depleted his magical core.

She approached him slowly and gently cupped his cheek, meanwhile healing the basic wounds. A deep cut on his leg, a graze from the cutting charm, bruises on his legs from when he had had to frantically duck to the floor to avoid a pretty nasty yellow spell, and other light scrapes. He, with effort, tried not to roll his eyes at her exaggerated concern.

"But it will have to wait for some other day. Your grandfather is expecting me," she clarified when she saw his frustration.

Adrian sighed, annoyed, as he exhaustively strode to the door, tossing a curt "Whatever" on his way out. He probably would have felt guiltier about his nasty mood if he weren't so tired. He made his way to his rooms in the Veamount Maison, where they were staying for his cousin's Philippe's fourteenth birthday celebration. This year, as per a pureblood custom, the heir ceremony would declare Philippe heir to the family. By the end of the night, a ring would decorate his cousin's hand, proclaiming him the heir.

He fantasized about a warm shower and the soft bed that awaited him. Marching through the chocolate-brown halls covered with soft beige carpets, he finally made it to his rooms and opened the door to find his best friend sitting on his bed waiting for him.

Andree Menard leaned back into his bed, a tumble of russet curls cascading down her back, as brown eyes watched him appraisingly. "Your mother is not going easy at you at all." She looked surprised. "I thought she would coddle you."

Adrian raised an eyebrow tiredly.

His mother was extremely protective of him. She went hysterical at his childish scrapes and bruises. She was strict with his safety to the point of madness. At first he had been rather overwhelmed by the advances. Through the years, he had slowly regained the memories of his past life, fortunately not letting slip too many things about the future, and any blunders were discounted as the ramblings of a young, naive child. As such, having no close relatives in the future, he treasured his parents very much, especially his mother who acted so affectionate and loving towards him, because the Dursleys' cold disregard had made him realize how precious their love was.

It did not mean that he didn't get annoyed or closed his eyes at their meddling. In the future he hadn't had such attention focused on him before.

He sighed, grumbling, "She prefers me able to defend myself. She's been a very tough and thorough instructor."

She smirked teasingly. "You don't sound too happy about that."

"It's necessary."

Some of Harry's laidback tendencies still haunted him, but he also had his determination to thoroughly trounce Tom Riddle as his priority. He smirked, eyes going feral, as he contemplated Tom Riddle and the battle the future Dark Lord was going to lose.

"Call the house elves and tell them to send up dinner," Adrian called out, as he slipped his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His lean young body was in full display as Andree watched him. "Would you, love?" He threw a tantalizing grin over his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes.

The bathroom door clicked softly as it snapped closed.

"Tiffy," Andree's voice resounded in the empty room.

* * *

He sipped on a glass of wine, observing the ballroom in boredom. Harry was a very active individual. He was reckless, brave, blunt and had little patience for politics. During the last few years of his life he had been forced to develop skill in it. There was no way he could stage war against a Dark Lord without allies and to gain allies one needed politics. In the future he had relied on his reputation as the Boy-Who-Lived to work his way through politics. But during this life he learned what a crutch it was.

He was used to being paid attention for being the Dark Lord's adversary. In this life he was a light pure-blood but he wasn't the heir. Adrian had a guaranteed easy life from being born into such a prestigious light family. But to wield influence in pure-blood society one either had to be born with the title or climb the social ladder to grasp power. He learned to be charming and use his good looks to his advantage. He gained the respect of his peers with his flawless grades and power in and out of the classrooms of Beauxbatons. Caution and wit were good companions while dancing with the most influential pure-bloods.

His hands curled against the railing on the second floor landing of the ballroom. A gorgeous caramel grand staircase led to the second landing. The circular center of the ballroom, where all the couples were dancing, extended to high ornate brown wooden ceilings, where Adrian spied carved fairies dancing and moving on the wood. The center was marked by the surrounding creamy columns that held up the second floor, where all the tables and chairs were situated. The style and grandeur of the architectural mezzanine was stunning. The tasteful draperies and decorations only served to highlight the beauty without heavily overwhelming it. The carpeted floors boasted the Veamount family crest sewn into the fabric.

Adrian, from his spot in the second landing, spotted Andree passing from one suitor to the other. She graciously and politely danced with each gentleman even though she was bored and uninterested with them. She was too well-bred to show any of this. If Adrian did not know her so well, he would have thought she was delighted as she hung off the arm of Nicholas Troffe. The bulky frame of the sandy haired youth was surprisingly coordinated in his steps.

He stepped up in front of the dancing couple. He ignored the dark resentful eyes of Nicholas as he cut into the dance. "May I have this dance?"

Andree smiled sweetly and threw her suitor a glance; her eyes met his for a second before she covered them by her long lashes, answering with the quiet voice of a lady, "I'd be honored to." She appeared shy, almost fragile, and that left Nicholas breathless for a second.

Nicholas walked away stiffly but over his shoulder he gave Andree a longing glance as he departed.

He was always amused at how her soft spoken character hid her deviousness and ambition so well.

"You have him eating out of the palm of your hand." He smiled as he twirled her around the ballroom, her loose mahogany curls following her motion. Effortlessly, with the skills that his dancing instructor had drilled into him, he danced with her gracefully. He suppressed a grin as he practically felt the stares from her fan club boring into his back.

Adrian admired her soft pink silk dress that clung to her body almost bashfully, and complimented her rosy cheeks for a second because although his best friend didn't sexually attract him, she painted a beautiful picture. For a moment, just a moment, he understood the appeal of the fairer sex. She almost made him wish that he didn't prefer the male form.

She gave him a demure smile. With all the eyes scrutinizing them, she always acted as was expected of her station. Only when they were behind closed doors did she allow herself to show her true persona.

Chocolate eyes simmered as she breathed, "I don't have the faintest idea what you are talking about." Innocence coated her tone thickly.

Adrian laughed delightfully.

On their next turn, she took the opportunity to mischievously lean in and whisper conspiratorially, "You must stop being so charming. The poor girls will claw my eyes out if you continue." A blink, and she was back to their synchronized dance.

Green eyes observed as a gaggle of girls, fourteen to sixteen in age, paid close attention to their dance. He had seen the majority wandering the corridors of Beauxbatons, but he didn't recognize a few of them, probably foreigners.

Adrian's attention zeroed in the daughter of the French Minister's Undersecretary. A radiant beam was tossed in her direction. He felt inordinately pleased when her fair skin flushed.

Andree pressed her hands against his dark blue dress robes gently. He snapped his attention to her face as she gestured discreetly to the side.

Adrian watched as his mother approached them. Dressed in lilac shade that matched her eyes, Melissa's dress was modest yet elegant. It wrapped her torso with a deep purple corset, and lace, in a lighter shade of the color, covered the upper portion of her body, the collarbones, shoulders, arms and back. The rest of the dress trailed on the ground. The only exposed patches of skin were her round face, her graceful neck, and her nimble hands.

"My darling girl, would you give a mother the chance to snatch a dance with her wayward son." Melissa smiled as she asked Andree.

She bowed out of dance graciously as his mother fondly gazed at her. Melissa adored Andree and unashamedly hinted that she would make a beautiful bride. Adrian wisely kept quiet while she gushed and promptly changed the subject the first chance he got. The two friends shared the same opinions of their future spouses. They would be accessories to them while they took charge of the politics. They did not want to taint their easy relationship with the expectations and responsibilities that a betrothal would entail.

Adrian stared at the departing figure of his best friend. _Besides_, he thought, _she deserves to be desired_. After all, he wasn't planning on being a faithful husband. He cared too much to humiliate her in such a manner.

He stepped onto the plush floors as he danced with his mother. She followed him easily, but he noticed that she seemed almost nervous.

Adrian frowned thoughtfully and was about to open his mouth when his mother spoke up.

"I suppose I can't get anything by you," she mused, both proud and sad. "You grew up so fast." Melissa looked at him tenderly before a fierce expression overtook her face. "You must be careful, Adrian. Today, a decision will be made. The consequences will be dangerous, so tread carefully if what I fear occurs."

A concerned expression graced Adrian's face. Before he could probe any further, a deep chime resounded through the room.

He watched as his grandfather started his speech on declaring Philippe as the magical heir. He watched as the boxes containing the family rings were brought out. He watched as Philippe started his chant alongside his grandfather. The room started shaking.

Yet, he jolted when the magic rejected Philippe and embraced him. He realized a second before anyone else that Philippe wasn't going to be the heir. He watched as the ring rose eerily into the air and headed straight toward him. Adrian raised his hand, as if in a trance, and it slid up his finger smoothly.

He watched the guests' shocked faces, his mother's concern, his father's conflict, Philippe's betrayed and humiliated expression, Guillaume's stoic face, Claudine's worry splayed across her face, and Stephane's disappointment. He watched and watched as the silence stretched.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Next chapter is Tom._

_Also could you please review or leave an opinion or something. It could be really simple: like, dislike, love, hate, meh, etc. Just give me your opinion so I know what to improve upon. I won't crucify you if you have a negative opinion or criticism. Please point out any spelling mistakes, here or in previous chapters._

_To all those that did review I really do appreciate your thoughts. If anyone has any questions please ask them and I'll try my best to answer them._

_If the story feels more polished that is thanks to my great beta._


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